White Horses
by Karen T
Summary: "What you will not ask yourself is this: Why didn't Laura come back for Sydney?" (post-"Trust Me")
1. Chapter 1

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Title: White Horses

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Author: Karen T (poohmusings@yahoo.com)

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Rating: PG-13

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Disclaimers: Jen is mine; all others I'm "borrowing" from JJ Abrams, Touchstone, ABC, and Bad Robot. Except for a bit of emotional scarring, I promise to return them no worse for the wear. ;) Summary is courtesy of "Lockdown" by the wonderful nanda. Definitely go read that fic if you haven't already.

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Spoilers: Very minor for "Trust Me" and "Cipher."

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Classification: UPT (unresolved parental tension), angst, drama, post-"Trust Me." Oh, and the minute "Cipher" aired, this fic became AU.

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Archive: CM, of course. All others, please ask first.

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Feedback: Always appreciated.

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Giddy squeals of thanks to:Mai and Diana for the fabulous beta work, Jenai for telling me to step away from my keyboard and stop deleting things, Lara for the Camp Swampy reference, and nanda for all the UPT chats and supplying me with the bounce for my plot bunny.

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Summary: "What you will not ask yourself is this: Why didn't Laura come back for Sydney?"

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1

One hall diverged into two, which then bled into four, then eight, then sixteen, then thirty-two. 

Standing just inside the building's main doorway, Jen lifted an eyebrow and studied the expanse that lay before her. Located on the outer edge of the northeast side of a sleepy Southern California campus, this lecture hall could only be described as ludicrous, a ludicrous labyrinth of disconnected corridors housed within four walls.

Local rumor – or legend, as some liked to call it – claimed the building and its illogical floor plan was the product of two architect brothers who, a month and a half after construction had begun, had a falling out over a woman. Since neither wished to lay eyes on the other, the brothers retreated to opposite ends of the building and commenced assembly as each saw fit. What resulted were passageways that never met and rooms that were nonsensically numbered.

The first time Jen had attempted to find Room 1351, she'd gotten lost. She'd arrived thirty minutes early for her meeting – the importance of making a good first impression, you know – but had ended up being forty-five minutes late as she'd grown more and more flustered. And by the time she'd stumbled into the room – panting, cheeks flushed, clothes awry – she'd already learned to hate the entire building as well as the person waiting for her, his mouth set into a disapproving frown as he consulted the time on his Cartier watch.

And as she now took a right down one hallway (which would be followed by a left, another left, a right, a left, a right…), she recollected that first meeting and shook her head. If someone had told her then that, four years later, she'd still be Jack Bristow's handler, she would have laughed and said, "Yeah, I don't think so." But here she was, on her way to see him in this absurdly designed lecture hall, which was his favorite meeting spot.

According to her watch, she was almost a full hour early for the meet, which was something she'd planned on purpose. _For once, Jack,_ she thought as she hurried down yet another identical corridor, _I'm going to be in that room before you._

But when she pushed open the door to Room 1351, there was Jack, already seated in a distressed oak chair. And, as if on cue, he glanced up from some papers he'd been studying to look at the clock hanging on the wall opposite from where he sat. "You're early," he said with mild surprise.

Suppressing the desire to roll her eyes, Jen grabbed the chair next to Jack's and repositioned it – its legs scraping loudly against the scuffed tile floor – so she could sit facing him. "You've really got to stop doing that, Jack."

"Doing what?"

"Making me look bad."

"Then you've got to stop making it so easy," he retorted with a smirk.

She was fully aware that some would consider their banter flirtatious, but it wasn't. Besides the fact that Jack was almost the same age as her father, she knew he didn't look at her in 'that way,' and the feeling was mutual on her end. The relationship between the two of them was one of respect, which was something she'd spent two years earning. It had really taken her two years – two years of effective countermission planning, two years of sleepless nights spent scouring endless documents so she could keep him appraised of what SD-6 was doing and to whom, two years of covering for him when the anniversary of his wife's death would roll around and he'd secretly go on a drinking binge – before he'd learned to trust her and stopped speaking in monosyllabic grunts.

"How is it that I haven't put a bullet through your heart myself?" she asked as she crossed her legs.

"Your parents raised you well. Shaped you into a decent human being," he replied without missing a beat. She could tell he was being serious.

"Right. I'll have to be sure to thank them when I see them at Christmas."

"Plus, you're a good agent. An asset to the CIA."

The compliment made her blush, which she was sure Jack knew would happen. "Not bad for a girl who you initially believed only got this position because she'd either 'laid the right man or made sure Daddy's hand was in the appropriate politician's pocket,' huh?"

Jack winced and lowered his eyes to the floor in shame. "Did I really say all that?"

"Not in so many words, but the things you didn't say that day were pretty deafening." When Jen saw Jack's countenance grow even graver, she laughed as her way of lightening the mood. "But, hey, don't worry about it. Really. I was young and naïve and _very_ wet behind the ears then, so you had every right to be suspicious of my qualifications."

"You _are_ a good agent, Jen," Jack asserted with quiet insistence. "You've developed into…someone you should be proud of."

"Thank you." She smiled and wished he were the kind of man who would allow a hug. She liked giving people hugs and often wondered when the last time was that Jack had received one. "That means a lot coming from you. But that's not why I called you down here."

"Right." He rearranged his expression into one of gravity. "You mentioned something about an emergency on the phone. What's going on? I just spoke with Sydney this morning and know she's fine, so…"

Jen opened her mouth to speak only to shut it without uttering a word. She thought she'd gotten to a point in her career where relaying bad news no longer affected her, but her current state of confusion told her otherwise. "There's, well… There's really no good way to say this… I, um… Judy Barnett, she…" She hesitated again and looked off to the left as she felt tears spring to her eyes. "She's…dead."

Shock flitted across Jack's face as he digested the news. He blinked several times, licked his lips, and then rubbed them together. Anyone else probably would have wondered why he wasn't showing more emotion, but Jen knew that was about as emotional as he would get when dealing with something that didn't involve Sydney – or Irina Deverko. "That's…terrible," he muttered. "When did it happen? _How_ did it happen?"

"Well, the when was last night, a little after midnight, in the office parking lot. The how? That depends on who you ask."

"Excuse me?"

"The police who arrived on the scene after her body was found by a patrolling security guard believe her death was the result of a car jacking gone bad. They think someone – or someones – was in the middle of breaking into her car when she came upon the scene. When she put up a fight, she was killed."

"So that's what the police think. But what do _we_ think?"

"We actually agreed," Jen began with a shrug, "until her assistant came into the office this morning and realized that Barnett's tapes are no longer in her safe."

"Her _tapes_?" Jack's eyes grew large with confusion as his tongue tripped over the last word he'd said.

"Yes, the tapes of her therapy sessions." Jen furrowed the space between her brows. Why did Jack sound so perplexed? "Barnett usually kept them locked in a safe in her office, but when her assistant opened the safe today, the tapes were no longer there. While this could be a mere coincidence, Devlin believes that—"

"Wait," Jack interrupted forcefully, his eyes clouding over in anger. "She had _tapes_ of her therapy sessions?"

"Yes. Jack, this is common knowledge. Everyone knows Barnett audiotaped all of her sessions in order for her to be able to go back and take extensive notes on them later. She made all her patients sign release forms at the beginning of their first session with her. _You_ signed a form, Jack. I've seen it. It's in your file."

Jack swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and struggled to recollect back to the first time he'd been ordered – by his daughter, no less – to see Barnett. He'd been livid to the point of almost being incoherent that day, and he'd been embarrassed beyond belief, ashamed that he'd succumbed to his one weakness and fear. It was entirely possible he'd signed a form then, although he certainly couldn't remember doing so now.

"Jack?" Jen studied his face with concern. If this was his reaction to the news of Barnett's death, then how was he going to handle what she was about to tell him? "Are you—"

"I'm fine. Please. Continue. Barnett's tapes are missing and…?"

"Well, Devlin doesn't know what to make of that. It's entirely possible that Barnett had taken them home, which is apparently something she occasionally did when she planned on working out of the office for a few days. But in light of how she was working uncharacteristically late last night and the fact that she's…well, dead, Devlin wants to take some precautions."

She paused here to see if her mention of 'precautions' would produce some sort of nonverbal response from Jack. But it didn't; he just remained staring at her blankly. "If all her patients had been run-of-the-mill agents," she continued, "Devlin would simply circle the wagons and release a statement of 'no comment' if anything untoward made its way to the press. But you, Jack, your case is special. None of us know exactly what you and Barnett discussed during your sessions, but we're assuming that you probably mentioned, at least once or twice, that you're a double. That being the case, this means that your life could be in danger if someone…bad were to find those tapes before we do. Consequently, Devlin wants you in seclusion until we find out what happened to those tapes."

Again, another moment of silence, and again, not a trace of emotion across his face. _Damn, he is good_, she mused in her head. He never ceased amazing her with his skills. "You should consider it a…completely unplanned yet not entirely unwelcome vacation," Jen suggested as she broke into a toothy grin with the hope of selling him on Devlin's plans.

"Seclusion?" he asked, his tone wary.

The corners of her lips crept up a few millimeters despite the serious undertones of their conversation. She'd known the instant those words had left her mouth that he would choose to focus on his impending seclusion rather than on her mention of a vacation. "I'm sorry, Jack, but it's necessary. You know that."

"I do." He shifted his position in the chair and focused his eyes on a crack in the wall directly above Jen's head. _Maybe some time off won't be such a bad thing_, he contemplated. After all, he was tired of feeling Sloane's untrusting, inquisitive eyes on the back of his head every time he spoke to someone at SD-6. And he was tired of being at Kendall's beck and call, the assistant director's grating voice snapping orders into his ear every hour on the hour (_"Cooperate with me, Jack!" "Tell Sydney to see her mother, Jack!" "This is a matter of national security, Jack!"_). A few days away from everyone would probably do him invaluable good.

Sliding his gaze downward until it settled on Jen's grayish-blue eyes, he asked, "How long are we talking about?"

"I'd plan for at least a week." She could see resignation slowly fill Jack's body – the slight droop forward of his shoulders, the almost undetectable twitch of a muscle behind his left cheek – and breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't wanted to fight him on this, but would have if push had come to shove. "It's actually a great opportunity if you think about it."

His head shot upwards as his eyes grew large once more. "A great opportunity?"

"Yeah. You and Sydney, alone, in a house in the middle of—"

"_Sydney_ and I?" A tinge of red began climbing upward from Jack's neck. His hands, which had been resting on his thighs, were now curled into tight balls, the knuckles a bright white contrast against his tanned skin.

This wasn't the first time Jen had seen Jack on the brink of imploding from worry. Despite the ribald jokes uttered behind closed Agency doors about how Jack Bristow was colder than the Abominable Snowman, she knew his love for Sydney was always foremost on his mind. She had no doubt he would kill for her, because of her. "Yes. Sydney needs to be in seclusion as well since—"

"I mentioned her during my sessions with Barnett," Jack finished, his right fist digging into his upper thigh in anger. "Because _I_ talked about her, Sydney now has to be hidden away for her own safety. How could I have been so stupid to drag her name into my sessions? I know better than that."

Inching forward in her chair, Jen extended a hand to wrap around one of Jack's when she realized what she was doing and pulled it back down into her lap. Sometimes, when she was reacting on emotion rather than reason, she found it difficult to remember how much Jack didn't appreciate being touched. She hesitated for a moment before leaning towards him and dropping her voice to the level of a soothing whisper. "Well, yes, there's that," she said, careful to keep her voice even, "but there's also the fact that Sydney's had her own slew of sessions with Barnett. It's not your fault, Jack. It's not."

A week ago, at the obscenely early morning hour of 3 am, she'd spoken those exact words to Jack in the parking lot of an out-of-the-way diner that had closed months earlier. He'd called her, on the verge of hysterics, and if he hadn't identified himself by name, she doubted she would have ever ascertained on her own that he was the one on the other end of the phone line. And when she'd finally located her glasses and driven to the site, every last one of his fears had dribbled off his tongue of their own volition.

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"She's evil, Jen. That woman…she… She doesn't care, she doesn't feel. And now Sydney's talking to her and she'll become poisoned and it'll be my fault. It will. Because I should have protected her, but I didn't. I wanted revenge. I wanted… And when she tells Sydney everything, I'll lose her. It's all my fault."

And then as abruptly as he'd begun his confessions, Jack had closed himself off and refused to discuss the matter any further, especially what he'd meant by 'everything.' Jen had attempted to broach the subject the following day (as well as the day after that and the day after that), but he'd been adamant, held her with an icy stare and told her it'd been 'nothing' and he was sorry to have bothered her. She'd let it go, but that hadn't meant she'd forgotten.

There was very little she forgot where Jack Bristow was concerned.

"Jack?" Her mind was back in Room 1351 now and they both looked down to find her hand curled around the fingers of his relaxed fist; she had apparently moved it there despite her reservations. "It's really not your—"

"I'm fine." He brusquely extracted his hand from her grip and ran it through the left side of his hair. "If Sydney and I need to be in seclusion for a few days, then so be it. How much time do I have?"

Jen bit her tongue to keep herself from blurting out how tired she was of his recent habit of opening himself up to her only to slam his emotional door shut on her fingers without any advance warning. Examining his graying hairline as a way of stemming her annoyance, she stiffly replied, "A couple of hours. Devlin wants you secure in the safe house before sundown. Does that give you enough time to come up with an excuse to give Sloane?"

"Of course." Jack had stuffed his papers back into his briefcase and was already on his feet and almost out the door before he hesitated mid-stride and pivoted around to face her. "Sydney, she…she's fine with this?"

"She doesn't have a choice but to be."

"Right." A curt nod and then he was gone. She didn't even hear his departing footsteps retreat down the hallway.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Jen placed chairs back to the way she imagined they had originally been and did a quick sweep of the room with her eyes to make sure neither of them inadvertently left anything behind.

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"And when she tells Sydney everything, I'll lose her."

More now than ever before, Jen wished she knew what lay hidden behind the word 'everything.'


	2. Chapter 2

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2

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Time in seclusion: 00:22:37

"…there's a week worth of groceries in the fridge and cupboards. You have your cell phone, right?"

Jack tore his eyes away from the avocado-colored refrigerator, which he appeared to have grown inexplicably fascinated with, to nod and pat the left side pocket of his suit jacket.

"Okay, good," Jen said as she swept out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into the front hall of the safe house. "And you have your gun?"

He nodded once more but didn't give away where on his body it was hidden.

"Okay…good." She grimaced when she realized that numerous variations of 'okay, good' had been her answer to his last hand-full of responses. "I spoke with Vaughn about fifteen minutes ago and he and Sydney were on their way here, so they should be arriving soon. I'm sure you and Sydney will be fine."

"Of course we will." Nowhere in sight was the anxious Jack Bristow who'd all but panicked when told that Sydney would be joining him in the safe house.

"Yes, well…" Why in the world was she feeling so nervous when Jack was calm and collected? "If anything comes up, I'm only a phone call away. Please don't hesitate to call me."

"I know. And I won't."

"And Vaughn or I will stop by and check on you two in a couple of days."

"That's fine."

Jen clamped her lips together and examined her view of Jack. His face was turned away from her – apparently something in one of the bedrooms had piqued his interest – so what she saw was a side profile of his face: the bump of his pursed lips, the flicker of his eyelashes as he strained to hear again whatever had captured his attention. She knew it was ridiculous to be so concerned. Jack could take care of himself; no one was more aware of this than she was after having monitored so many of his missions in which things always seemed to go wrong. Unfortunately, she also knew how erratic he could become when in situations involving his daughter.

"Well," she said with a bright voice and a clap of her hands, "if there's nothing else, then I'll—"

"Just find those tapes, okay?"

The request was quiet, almost plaintive, and made her stare at him a bit longer than she'd intended to.

"You know I will, Jack," she declared with her best imitation of unquestioning assurance. When he didn't respond or look back in her direction, she let herself out through the front door and waited for Vaughn and Sydney to make their appearance. She couldn't explain why, but a sense of foreboding was filling her belly.

The low rumble of an engine and the crunch of loose gravel underneath tires lifted her from her thoughts as she blinked and saw a car pull up in front of the house. Soon both the car's front doors opened and out stepped Vaughn and a young woman she assumed was Sydney.

"You made it," Jen greeted cheerfully. She uncrossed her arms and trotted out to meet them by the car.

"Yeah, traffic was surprisingly light," Vaughn stated as he opened one of the back passenger doors and pulled out a carry-on size suitcase. "Syd, Jen Wallis. Jen, Sydney Bristow."

"It's good to finally meet you. Jack's said a lot about you in that laconic way of his," Jen quipped, holding out her hand to the woman who stood before her. Sydney was tall, which wasn't surprising given the height of her parents, and she was dressed casually in a pair of loose fitting jeans and a light gray sweater, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. "But it's always nice to put a face to a name."

"Yes, it is." Sydney's hand was cool to her touch and Jen could tell she was being scrutinized. "So…_you're_ my father's handler. I've often wondered what you looked like."

"And? Do I pass muster?"

"Yes, definitely. I guess I… I just expected my dad's handler to be older and surlier and…"

"Manlier?" Jen supplied with a knowing smile.

"Actually, yes." Sydney cocked her head to her right and openly evaluated her father's handler. She was of medium height, had blondish-brown hair pinned up into a bun, and a friendly air about her. Her black pantsuit showed off a trim figure and she looked to be about Vaughn's age. Shoving her hands into the side pockets of her jeans, Sydney broke out into a sheepish grin. "I know it's silly of me to have assumed that my dad's handler would be a man. I just—"

"Oh, don't worry about it," Jen dismissed with a wrinkle of her nose and a wave of a hand. "I get that a lot, and the truth of the matter is that I probably wouldn't have gotten this position if your father hadn't happened to antagonize and piss off everyone else within the Agency four years ago. He needed a new handler at the time, no one wanted the job, so I volunteered."

"And we all thought she was insane," Vaughn interjected as he joined the two women and handed Sydney her canvas backpack. "We were convinced you had hit your head and lost your mind."

"And you still sometimes think that, right?" Jen teased with a boisterous laugh, which soon had Vaughn laughing as well. Sydney took note of the playfulness between the two agents who stood on either side of her in their dark suits. She instantly knew there was a back story there that she wasn't privy to. "Anyway," Jen continued, shaking her head and pushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, "I was eager to make a name for myself in the Agency and knew that becoming handler for such an important agent as Jack was a fantastic opportunity, so I pushed hard for the assignment. There were misgivings on Devlin's part, but I think he finally agreed to my proposition because he figured that once Jack and I met, we'd immediately want nothing more to do with each other."

"I take it that's not what happened?" Sydney asked.

"Well, as predicted, your father immediately ran to Devlin and demanded another handler. Someone with more experience, someone a little less…fluffy." Jen snickered as that word came to her mind. "Yeah, I actually think he called me that once: fluffy. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. But when Devlin met with me, I told him everything went fine and that I had a feeling Jack and I would forge a wonderful asset/handler relationship."

"I still can't believe Devlin bought that line," Vaughn sneered.

"He didn't, genius," Jen sarcastically retorted. "I think Devlin was just sick of Jack at that point and was happy to have _anyone_ other than himself deal with him. And I don't know why you're complaining 'cause I happen to remember a certain female handler recommending you to Devlin as the perfect candidate for becoming one himself about a year ago."

"Yeah, you did, didn't you? I still owe you for that." A smile stretched across Vaughn's face as he gazed at his friend with both admiration and appreciation.

Sydney took note of that as well. "So, you two…know each other well?" she asked tentatively, her eyes flitting back and forth from one smiling face to the other, her heart quickening ever so slightly in pace.

"Oh, God, yeah. How many years do you think we're talking about, Mike? Six? Seven?"

"Yeah, at least, I guess. I mean, we go back to Camp Swampy."

"Camp Swampy?" Sydney's mouth fell open as she digested this information. She knew so little about Vaughn but had wedged herself so deeply into his life that she sometimes forgot he had friends and acquaintances she would never have heard of before. "You guys joined the Agency together?"

"Well, not 'together' in the sense that we knew each other beforehand. We met our first year in. You know, Vaughn…Wallis…Weiss…" Jen rattled off, her shoulders drawing upwards into a nonchalant shrug. "Alphabetical seating has its benefits, I suppose."

"Yeah, I suppose," Sydney muttered, a tinge of annoyance creeping into her voice.

Catching the minor shift in her tone, Vaughn shot Sydney a look of alarm and reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Is something wrong?"

"What? No." She shook her head as she attempted to mask her jealousy. "No, it's just that… I was thinking I should probably get inside the house."

"Oh, right. Of course." Gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb, Jen pointed at the front door. "Your father's already inside. We drove here together in a rental car and since Devlin wants the two of you to have a car in case of an emergency, we hid it around back. But this means I'm now left without a way back to the office. Mike? Think I can hitch a ride with you?"

"Yeah, sure. Just let me get Sydney settled first."

"Okay. I'll wait for you here."

As Vaughn escorted Sydney towards the door, her suitcase in his right hand, he noticed that her usual smile had fallen into a straight line and her eyes were firmly anchored onto the ground, refusing to meet his. "Hey, don't worry about having to be holed up for a few days," he reassured her with a calm voice as he misread the reason for why she was upset. "We'll find those tapes and break you out of here in no time."

"Oh, I know you will. That's not why I'm—" She caught herself at the last second and silently chastised herself for almost saying too much. "Never mind."

"No, what were you going to say? That's not why you're what? Is there something going on I should know about?"

Coming to a halt several feet away from the front door, Sydney snuck a peek over her shoulder towards where Jen was waiting by Vaughn's car and saw the female agent holding an animated conversation with someone via her cell phone. She would laugh every couple of seconds as her free hand waved in front of her body with dramatic flair. _What could possibly be bothering me, Vaughn?_ Sydney questioned in her head as she turned her attention back to her handler. _Certainly not the fact that you know everything about my life and friends, and yet I know nothing about yours._

Using every bit of power within her to conceal her bitterness and hurt, she forced herself to smile and quickly covered what little distance there was to the door. "Don't mind me. I'm just annoyed. I mean, there's so much stuff going on right now with SD-6 and my mother's organization, and I should be out dealing with that. But instead of doing my job – doing something useful – I'm stuck in this safe house because of some stupid tapes."

"I know. It's frustrating," Vaughn sympathized as he set her case down and inserted a key into the front lock to open the door. "But we're going to be doing everything within our power to get both you and your dad out of here as soon as possible, and I really think everything's going to be fine between—"

"Hello, Sydney."

Stepping into the house, Vaughn and Sydney swung their heads in the direction of the voice. They could see Jack's figure partially shrouded in shadows as he spoke to them from the living room.

"Hey, Dad," Sydney greeted with a genuine expression of pleasure before redirecting her eyes to Vaughn. "Look, I know everything's going to be fine with me and my dad. Don't worry about us. Just find those tapes, okay? I'm beginning to run out of believable places to go on extended business trips when it comes to explaining to Francie where I've gone."

Vaughn chuckled at her request and gave her right hand a quick squeeze. "You've got it. Take care of yourself, Syd."

"Always."


	3. Chapter 3

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3

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Time in seclusion: 00:51:29

Leading into and out of the kitchen were two doors. One led directly to the living room, while the other spilled into the inner hallway where the two bedrooms could be found. From a certain position by the latter door – back pressed against the right side of the frame, head tilted to the right, neck twisted upwards and to the left – one had a semi-unobstructed view of the smaller bedroom. Jack had learned of this position eight minutes ago and had since spent the passing time surreptitiously observing Sydney.

Every so often she'd come into view as she unpacked her suitcase. Once she had a pair of shoes in her hands, her eyes darting around the room to see where she could store them without tripping over them later. Another time she had been shaking the wrinkles out of some jeans as she tossed a white T-shirt over her shoulder.

Except for how he was essentially spying on his own daughter, this act of surveillance felt very domestic, very normal to him. Perhaps that was because he'd spent much of Sydney's teenage years watching her every movement from afar since he'd convinced himself that it was for the best, that he needed to keep his distance if he wanted her to remain safe.

Backing away from the doorway, Jack grabbed onto the nearest countertop edge to steady himself as he inhaled a sharp breath and blinked away a sudden onslaught of emotion. _God, what is wrong with me?_ he asked himself with disdain. _I'm asked to spend a few days with Sydney and I fall apart? This is insane. I can do this._

But despite his silent pep talk, he knew the truth was being uttered by the nagging voice in his head he'd been trying his hardest to ignore. **_No, you can't, Jack. You can't do this because _this_ is too normal. Especially for you._**

This voice was growing louder and more insistent by the second.

"Sydney, have you—" he started to ask aloud, his voice coming out as a low, muddled croak. Clearing his throat and clenching his jaws, he tried once more. "Have you had any dinner?"

"No, not yet," she shouted back, and he could make out the sound of her sliding a drawer shut. "My class ran late and I barely had enough time to throw some clothes together before Vaughn came to whisk me over here."

"Are you hungry? I could probably make us something to eat."

"Hey, that'd be great. But if you don't feel like cooking, I could do it. It's not a big deal."

"No, no, it's no problem," he insisted as he began examining the contents of the cupboards and refrigerator. "You finish unpacking and I'll take care of dinner."

"Or we could, you know, do it together."

Jack twirled around to find Sydney grinning at him from under the doorframe that separated the hall from the kitchen. **_You were just standing right there, Jack. Remember what you were doing there?_**

When she saw a corner of his smile falter ever so slightly, she raced to his side, her eyes large and worried. "Dad, are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm fine," Jack recovered seamlessly, the small smile now back to its previous pristine condition. "I was just appalled to learn that whoever stocked this place apparently has an affection for starches because we don't have much to work with. There are a few bags of dried pasta, some jars of tomato sauce, some boxes of macaroni and cheese, a handful of potatoes, two loaves of bread…"

"Pasta sounds good," Sydney offered as she scrutinized Jack with concern. "Do you want to get started on that while I work on a salad? There _is_ something green and leafy in that refrigerator, isn't there?"

"Yes," he replied, ducking his head from her mindful stare. "I think I saw a head of lettuce in one of the bottom drawers."

"Cool."

They worked in relative silence, the sounds of their labor – water splashing into a pot, a knife slicing through crisp lettuce leaves – being the only noises heard in the room until Jack grunted something unintelligible under his breath as he used a pair of scissors to open a package of dried rigatoni.

Looking up mid-stroke from the tomato she was cutting, Sydney raised an eyebrow and asked, "What?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just… Do you remember going through this phase when you were little where you refused to eat everything except for pasta in a specific shape?"

"Yeah, I was…five," she drawled as the memory slowly began to take form in her mind. "And the pasta had to be…shells. Right? If they weren't shells, then I'd refuse to eat them?"

"Yes! And you drove me crazy with that because I couldn't figure out why you'd latched onto that shape. It made no sense at all."

"I thought they were pretty." Her hand crept up to her mouth as a series of giggles filled the room. "And they reminded me of the ocean."

"Oh, you will not believe how frustrated we became with your obsession over those pasta shells," he said, his glazed eyes revealing a man caught in the past. "You would throw a _fit_ if we tried to sneak anything else on to your plate. And your poor mother, she drove to every supermarket within a 30-mile radius buying up all the pasta shells she could find because we weren't sure how long your phase would last. We were convinced that…" His words trailed off as he saw Sydney look down at the floor, her gaiety gone. **_Nice going, Jack_**. "I'm sorry. I… I hadn't meant to mention…_her_."

"One of us was bound to, Dad," she replied with a failed attempt at indifference. "It's kind of inevitable these days, isn't it?"

"Yes, well…" The boiling water that was bubbling in the pot on the stove next to him pounded in his ears, as did the sound of Sydney's knife striking the cutting board with each slice through the tomato. **_You know you want to ask. You know you're going to ask eventually, so why not just get it out of the way now?_** "Sydney, have you…have you spoken to your mother again since we last talked?"

"No. Well, yes," she corrected without looking in his direction. "Technically, yes, but it wasn't planned and I don't plan on penciling in visits to her on my calendar. I only went to see her again because she'd said something about me to someone over at the Operations Center and I wanted to set her straight, let her know that I don't consider her my mother, that nothing's changed just because she's more visible now. I haven't forgiven her for who she is or what she's done." With each resentful declaration, her knife came crashing down upon the cutting board with a loud crack, the sound growing more deafening with every downward movement of her hand.

Jack watched her transfer her rage and pain onto the defenseless tomato and cringed. **_Sometimes the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?_** "You can't do this," he whispered to Sydney as much as he was whispering to himself.

"I'm sorry?" The blade of her knife, which was being raised upward, glistened under the kitchen's florescent lights.

"You can't do this."

"Make a salad?"

"No. You can't allow yourself to be blinded by your anger towards your mother."

Setting the knife onto the countertop with deliberate calm, she took a moment to collect her thoughts before looking her father directly in the eyes. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Sydney, you can't—"

"What do you expect me to do? Pretend like I don't know the things I know? That when I look at her, I don't ache and see files that belong to the CIA agents she killed? That I'm still supposed to believe she's sweet Laura Bristow, who read me stories until I fell asleep and insisted on making my Halloween costumes by hand? Well, I can't do that."

"And I'm not asking you to," Jack insisted, feeling as if his heart was being squeezed in a vise as he watched Sydney attempt to compose herself. He wanted to go to her, apologize for broaching the subject, promise to never mention it again. **_But you won't. You can't._** "I know you're upset, and you have every reason to be. But you can't emotionally close yourself off to her like you've been attempting to do because…you're not succeeding. Every time you push her away and say she means nothing to you, you're only feeding into her power, making her stronger."

Through the film of tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes, Sydney gaped at her father as if he was speaking gibberish. "What are you talking about?"

"I know this sounds crazy, but I know your mother and I know how she works and I know you're playing right into her hands. She _wants_ you to despise her, Sydney. She wants you to hate her so much that she's dead to you. That's when she'll turn that anger around and use it against you. She'll weasel back into your heart somehow and play on your sympathies for having wanted her dead."

"How can you possibly know that's what she's planning to—"

"Because!" Jack barked as his breathing grew shallow and his vision blurred. "If nothing else, Irina Derevko is a master manipulator. She played me for years and I will _not_ allow that to happen to you."

A lone tear trickled down her cheek as Sydney witnessed this small explosion of Jack's pain. After years of believing they would never see eye to eye on anything, she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the fact that it was her mother's betrayal that was bringing the two of them closer together.

It only took two long strides for her to be hugging her father, the right side of her face pressed against his shoulder, the scent of Irish Spring filling her nostrils. Slowly, she felt his arms go around her back. "I've tried to be like you, Dad. I've tried so hard to keep my emotions buried, but I see her and then I start to remember… What can I do? Tell me what I should do."

**__**

This is your chance, Jack. This is the opening you've been waiting for. His voice a prime example of a seasoned agent forcing his emotions below the surface, he told her, "I'm going to ask you some questions, and I need you to be honest."

"Okay."

"Do you hate her?"

"Yes." The answer was swift and unwavering. Jack couldn't help but feel a sense of victory as a corner of his lips twisted upwards.

"Do you love her?"

"Y-yes." This time the answer was more reluctant and less certain in delivery, but there was no doubting the truth that lay behind it. Pulling away from Jack, Sydney ran the back of her right wrist across the bottom of her nose, her eyes searching his face for evidence of anger or disappointment. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her words heavy with guilt. "I don't want to, but… I see her and everything starts coming back… After all these years, she's still tied to a lot of my happiest memories."

"It's okay," he assured her as he held her in a steady gaze. "I know how hard it can be to…remember." **_She'll always remember. Laura will always come first. Always._** "Now, Sydney, this next question is important. It's something your mother may use against you in the future. Since you've learned that her death was a hoax, have you ever wondered why she never came back for you after she disappeared?"

"What?" Sydney staggered a few steps backward, her mind reeling from the unexpected question. "What does that— No. No, I haven't."

Jack narrowed his eyes, his disbelief to her answer radiating off his body. "I need you to tell me the truth," he growled.

"I am!" The sudden shift in her father's demeanor was triggering every alarm in her head. The agent within her wanted to know what he was up to, but the daughter within her just wanted someone – anyone – she could openly confide to about her damaged family. "I swear, I've never wondered about that."

His body slouched a bit, almost as if his knees momentarily buckled from relief. "Okay. That's good. Now, have you ever—"

"I think the pasta's ready," she cut in. She knew it was absurd, but somehow, for some reason, she felt the need to be on guard.

Jack swung his head to the right and caught sight of the boiling pasta water on the brink of spilling over the lip of the pot. Turning off the burner, he looked back towards Sydney with the intention of resuming their conversation, but saw she'd returned to her knife and tomato. The girl who'd cried and begged for help was gone. "Sydney, we should—"

"Why don't we focus on dinner?" Her voice was tight – strained – and she didn't acknowledge his presence by raising her head when she spoke.

**__**

She's on to you. Jack could feel sweat begin to gather along his hairline. "But we really should—"

"Dad, we're going to be spending at least a couple of days together, so let's pace ourselves, okay?"

**__**

She knows. Arvin's trained her well. Defeated, Jack turned to face the stove and bowed his head. "You're right. Let's eat first."


	4. Chapter 4

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4

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Time in seclusion: 07:03:11

It was a little after 1:30 am when Sydney kicked her legs over the side of the bed and arched her back, various vertebrae and joints popping and creaking their pleasure at being shifted. A dull headache was blurring the edges of her thoughts and making it difficult to concentrate. Strewn across the wrinkled bedspread were three books (one of which was currently propped open, pages-down, on the bed), a variety of mechanical pencils, Uni-Ball pens, and multicolored highlighters, and a notebook with its rounded corners bruised and battered from being tossed into her backpack.

As she rose to her feet and stretched her arms above her head, Sydney cast a reluctant glance in the direction of the book she'd been attempting to read for the past three hours. To her dismay, she realized she couldn't remember a single word she'd read. Moaning in misery, she bent down for the book when every muscle within her tightened.

With her body frozen, she refocused all her attention to her hearing. Yes, there it was again: an incongruous sound. A murmur of voices. An indistinct conversation.

Sydney processed all this as she inched towards the nightstand, slid open the drawer there to retrieve her gun, and then sidled up to the closed bedroom door, pressing her left ear against the cool painted wood to see what else she could hear. The muffled sound of voices continued, but she couldn't assimilate any additional information from them.

Slowly easing the door open, Sydney peeked out into the dark hallway, her right hand wrapped around the handle of her gun, the side of her index finger rubbing against the trigger. As her pupils widened, she could see that the hall was empty. Keeping her gun in front of her, she crept in the direction of the voices. The identity and gender of the speakers remained a mystery to her, but there appeared to be only two of them.

She balanced her weight on the balls of her feet and crouched down lower as she entered the kitchen, an eerie golden light spilling across the linoleum floor. With each step forward, the voices grew less muddled, more distinct from one another. And when she neared the half-wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, she carefully raised her head and saw her father, seated on a couch, watching an old black-and-white _I Love Lucy_ episode with the volume turned down to a low whisper.

She dropped the hand holding the gun down to her side and took a step into the living room. "Dad?" she asked cautiously, wondering whether it was possible for a man to sit as still as he was and not be dead.

She received her answer when Jack jumped and whipped his head around to face her. "Sydney, I—"

"I'm sorry," she apologized with an embarrassed smile. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just— What are you still doing up?"

"Oh, well…" Jack ran a hand through his hair and was grateful for the dark that was hiding his reddening cheeks. "Unfamiliar beds, they… It always takes me a night to get used to them. You'd think that after all these years they wouldn't bother me anymore, but…" His voice trailed off as his gaze focused in on the gun still clenched in her right hand. Lifting his eyebrows, he asked why she was holding a gun without having to utter a single word.

"I heard voices and thought the worst," she replied with a roll of her eyes as she deposited the gun on top of a nearby end table and took a seat beside him on the couch. "Guess that's not very surprising, huh?"

He smiled wryly and shot a sidelong glance in her direction. Her hair now hung loose, cascading down around her shoulders with the sides framing her face, almost as if they were curtains for her to hide behind. It was at moments like these that he had to admit to himself just how much Sydney resembled Laura. **_Like mother like daughter. In every way?_ **"You…can't sleep, either?" he managed to ask despite the constriction in his throat.

"No, I've been up reading for school. The new quarter started just a few weeks ago but I'm already pathetically behind, so I've been trying to get caught up. Only problem is that I think I may be falling asleep with my eyes open."

Jack smiled and reclined further into the couch cushions. "Classes giving you a hard time?"

"Class," Sydney corrected with a sigh. "Sloane's been sending me on so many missions this past year that it's become next to impossible for me to stay caught up with my usual two classes, so I'm taking a lighter load this quarter."

"Things haven't been easy for you, have they?"

"Not just for me."

Their eyes met – brown eyes, carbon copy eyes – and each shyly grinned before looking away, almost as if they were self-conscious to have shared such an intimate moment. Jack's heart, however, also fluttered with a joy he only experienced when around his daughter. _I'm _not_ losing her_, he insisted to himself.

"Dad, I'm…" Sydney began, her words tinged with sorrow, "I'm sorry I closed up on you when we were making dinner. I hadn't meant—"

"It's all right. You don't—"

"Just let me explain, okay?" Tucking her hair behind her ears, she exhaled through her nose as she attempted to collect her thoughts. "What happened tonight, I… The reason I stopped talking like I did was because that question you asked me, the one about whether I'd ever wondered why Mom never came back for me, it…it hit a little too close to home." She hesitated when she saw Jack lower his head and look down into his lap. Squeezing her eyes shut, she continued, "What I told you wasn't a lie. Since I've learned that Mom was still alive, I haven't wondered why she never came back for me. But…that doesn't mean I never have."

Jack blinked and felt as if all his hopes were escaping through his now gaping mouth. **_She's thought of Laura. She's thought of being with Laura._**

"I was young," Sydney tried to explain, her mind spinning for a way to diminish the sting of her news. "I was, like, fourteen or fifteen at the time and we weren't getting along. I mean, you were never home, and when you were, it seemed like we were always fighting. If I brought home something with a B+, you'd ask why I couldn't get an A-. And then, if I brought home an A-, you'd ask why I couldn't get an A. And if I was at swim practice, you'd tell me I should have been home studying. And if I was home studying, you'd say I should have been at swim practice working on my turns. It just felt like I couldn't do anything right in your eyes and I got frustrated and clung on to this stupid idea that Mom wasn't dead.

"I knew she was," Sydney interjected when she saw Jack move his lips to protest. "Or, at least, I thought she was at the time. But then I began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she _hadn't_ died in that car crash. Maybe she'd drifted down the coast to San Diego and some hermit there had found her on some beach and revived her and taken her back to his hermit home. And she'd gotten better there, but had amnesia and couldn't remember who she was or where she used to live, and that was why she hadn't come home yet. I…I convinced myself that she'd remember everything and come back for me one day. So I used to sit in my room and dream about the day she'd come for me."

**__**

No, she didn't just dream of the day her mother would come for her. She dreamt of the day she would leave you_._ His mouth and throat parched, he swallowed air in lieu of saliva and struggled to rid his head of the thousands of hammering mallets that had taken up residence there. "I—"

"But Mom never came," Sydney resumed without allowing him to speak, her voice revealing hurt and bitterness. "And as year after year passed, I stopped dreaming that she'd come and began to wonder why she hadn't. I don't think I really stopped wondering why until I left for college because it was on that day that you helped me move into my first dorm room that I realized I didn't need her anymore."

"And me?" Jack croaked, his trembling voice betraying more emotion than he cared to.

Looking directly into his eyes for the first time since she'd begun her 'confession,' Sydney stated, "Wanting Mom back had _nothing_ to do with you being a bad father because you weren't. And you're not. I just really wanted a mother then. I was young and confused and there were… I just really wanted a mother. But none of this changes how I feel about her now. None of it erases what I know she's done to you, to me, to both of us."

Jack nodded, every part of his being numb. "Thank you…for telling me," he whispered, the words large and cumbersome in his mouth.

"I just want to be honest. About everything." Her fingers, which wanted to grab onto his, entangled themselves in each other. "And it doesn't change _anything_. I promise."

Another numb nod. "I know."

"Well, I should… I'd better get back to my reading. Another hour on Spenser's Faerie Queen and I might actually be able to move on to the Penguin Book of Renaissance Verse," she said lightly with a chuckle that sounded ridiculously false, even to her. Rising to her feet, she grabbed her gun and tapped his shoulder with her free hand. "Don't stay up too late, okay?"

One more nod.

The shuffle of her footsteps mingled with the laugh track being emitted from the TV, but those were all sounds he didn't hear. What instead rang in his ears was a sentence Sydney had said seconds earlier: _"And as year after year passed, I stopped dreaming that she'd come and began to wonder why she hadn't."_

Burying his face in his hands, he succumbed to the litany of cries exploding in his head. **_You know why._** I know why. **You know why.** I know why. I know why. I know why.


	5. Chapter 5

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5

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Time in seclusion: 25:14:18

"So Francie's just going to open this restaurant? Previous experience be damned?"

Sydney brought her glass up to her lips and motioned for her father to give her a second as she swallowed the piece of steak she'd been chewing and chased it down with a sip of ice water. Glimpsing across the table at Jack, she suppressed a smile when she saw him struggling to slice through an especially tough portion of his meat.

Lunch had been an under whelming offering of macaroni and cheese, which they'd both consumed in relative silence, neither wanting to admit what they were thinking. (Sydney: how her mother always used to make her macaroni and cheese when she was home sick from school; Jack: how Laura always used to make Sydney macaroni and cheese when she was home sick from school.)

And when it came time to prepare dinner, they hadn't really been looking forward to the task. But it had turned into an unexpectedly cheerful affair when Jack had discovered two New York steaks hidden in the freezer below several Swanson dinners. Seasoning them with his own special combination of spices, Jack popped them into the oven and later presented them to Sydney as a 'feast,' a term that had made her laugh. Unfortunately, he'd left them in the oven a bit longer than he should have.

That, however, hadn't dampened their high spirits. They'd sat down across from one another at the kitchen table and, although a little uncertain at first as to how to strike up a conversation, they'd soon found themselves chuckling as they traded funny anecdotes (centered around school and friends for Sydney, and missions and former operative partners for Jack). There were no awkward pauses or stilted attempts at repartee. Just a comfortable dinner between what felt like two old friends.

"Well," Sydney said, in response to Jack's earlier questions, "Francie seems really serious about the restaurant. I mean, she's been mentioning wanting to open one since our junior year in college, but this is the first time she's actually done something about it."

"But she's being cautious, right? Contractors are notorious for taking advantage of unsuspecting clients. And I hear the same goes with various government agencies."

"She says she has it all under control. Plus, Will's helping her out with a lot of that stuff."

"Yes, Will." Jack drew out the Ls in the name and lost his grin for the first time that night. "How is he doing?"

"I don't know," Sydney said with a sigh, the bags underneath her eyes growing darker as she exhaled. "He claims to be fine. Says so all the time. But…I don't know. I'm worried about him. It just doesn't seem possible that he's adjusted to everything so quickly. Do you remember what I did when I found out about Danny and SD-6?"

Jack bobbed his head and shifted his eyes down to his plate. How could he ever forget his frantic calls to her apartment? The way the line would always ring three and a half times before the answering machine would kick on and he'd be left listening to the banter on Sydney and Danny's playful outgoing message? He could still recite that message line for line.

"I'd been a spy for years by then and was used to dealing with the unexpected. But Will, he's…he was a reporter and now he's lost everything, but he's walking around as if none of that – his job, his reputation, his _life_ – mattered to him. And that worries me. I'm afraid he's going to wake up one morning and it's all going to come crashing down on him at once." Sydney pushed what was left of her peas and carrots around her plate with the tines of her fork and began to chew on the inside of her right cheek. 

"He's strong," Jack reassured her, empathizing with how she currently felt. He knew she blamed herself for Will's downfall, and he blamed himself as well. "He'll come through all this."

"I hope so." Shoving her plate away from her, Sydney ran a finger down the side of her tumbler of water and wished for a bottle of wine or, for that matter, anything alcoholic. It was wrong that the strongest thing in the house was a container of instant coffee. "He's lost so much," she lamented. "And even though it's nice to have someone around I can talk to – sort of – seeing him reminds me of everything that's happened in the past year, especially Danny's death. I mean, if I hadn't told Danny about SD-6, they wouldn't have killed him, and then Will wouldn't have needed to investigate his death. So much could have been changed if I'd just made a different decision."

Without lifting his eyes from his plate, Jack watched Sydney absently sip her water and look off into the distance, her mouth falling into a frown, her eyes sad and laden with concern. _He_ was the one who'd gotten Will to mention 'The Circumference' to Khasinau's men. She didn't deserve to shoulder so much of the blame herself.

"Sydney, I'm sorry that—" He clamped his jaws shut just as his apology for involving Will in his scheme to smoke out the CIA mole was about to leave his mouth. **_You can't do it, can you, Jack? You just can't say you're sorry._ **"I'm sorry I overcooked the steaks," he mumbled with disgust as he leaned across the table to pick up her discarded plate.

"What? No. Dinner was fine. Great, even. I hadn't meant to—"

"It's okay. The meat was too dry."

"Really, Dad, dinner was great. Thank you for cooking it. And thank you for listening to me worry about Will. I don't…I don't really have anyone I can discuss this with, so _thank you_."

Jack had his back to her and was in the process of filling the small sink with bubbles to wash the dishes when he suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap around his chest. The coarse ends of Sydney's hair tickled his exposed neck as she rested her head on his shoulder and whispered, "Thank you for everything."

He sucked in a short gasp of air and held his breath. His heart wrenched.

**__**

Isn't this a nice father-daughter scene? Makes you actually believe you look out for her, doesn't it? That you've never lied to her? Or used her? The irony's almost devastating, isn't it? Ripping her arms away from his body, Jack broke free of her embrace, his face twisted in anguish. "She did," he spat, almost as if the words were hot coals that had been burning his mouth.

"Who? What?" Sydney furrowed her forehead and reached for his arm.

Flinching before a finger touched him, Jack clarified, in a tumble of words, "Your mother. When you were little, she did come back for you."

"What?" She stumbled backwards, all sense of balance lost until she bumped into one of the table's chairs. "She…came back for me?" Hurt and confusion filled her eyes. "And you never told me?"

"It's not what you think. She didn't come back because she wanted to—"

"YOU NEVER TOLD ME?" The accusation reverberated off the walls and window.

"Let me explain," Jack ordered, his face impassive, vacant, despite the anxiety churning within him. "You were eight at the time and it was a few days before Christmas. I still had some shopping left to do, so I drove us to the Pasadena Mall."

Little by little, Sydney began to remember snippets from that day. Rivulets of water trailing down a car window. The tinny chimes of the bell from a Salvation Army volunteer outside of the mall's main doors. Tugging on her father's hand and begging to pay another visit to Santa and his elves. "It was…raining?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes."

"And we were at…a Macy's?"

"Yes."

"You said you were shopping for a co-worker."

"It was a gift for Sloane. I was looking at ties."

"I…" She recalled staring at rack after rack of pants and coats on hangers. There'd been so many of them and she'd been so bored. "I was standing right next to you and heard…something. A little boy crying, I think. And I looked away from you for a second, but when I turned back around, you were gone."

"You wandered away." **_Liar. You walked away from her._** Jack jerked his face to his left, almost as if the voice in his head had slapped him.

"I wandered away from you?" Here Sydney scrunched her eyebrows. Her memories weren't matching up with this piece of information. "But I don't… Are you sure?"

"Yes." **_Liar! You saw her turn her head and knew that was your chance to leave. You followed Devlin's orders and left her behind, alone._**

Jack forced himself to remain aloof, to hide from Sydney how much he wanted to break her gaze and turn away from her eyes. He knew they were focused on his in search of comfort, but he felt as if they were damning him. "When I looked down for you, you were gone. I tried to find you, but…" **_You joined the other CIA agents hiding in a nearby men's dressing room and watched as your little girl realized she'd been abandoned. You saw the tears fall down her cheeks. You saw the panic creep into her eyes and, even though it tore at your heart, you did _nothing_ because all you could think about was how much you wanted to entrap Laura, how much you wanted her to pay for hurting you._** His voice cracked as he lamely finished, "…you'd disappeared."

Sydney could feel the fear she'd felt that day course through her body. She'd been so scared. Everywhere she'd turned she saw mothers and fathers protectively holding on to their children's hands, but none of those grown-ups had been her father. She'd wanted to sit down on the floor and weep. Memories of her mother had been growing fainter with each passing year and now she'd lost her dad? Why was she always getting left behind? And just as she'd been about to allow despair to take her over, an alarm had gone off.

"Someone was caught shoplifting," she now whispered as unfocused images flickered before her closed eyes.

Jack dropped his head as the events of that day replayed in his mind. The clanging security alarm that abused their eardrums. The commotion of salespeople rushing to the exit that flashed a bright red light. Parents screeching as they pulled their children closer to them. All of that had come as a surprise to his men. They'd been trained to keep their attention focused on the task at hand at all times, but even he'd been distracted by all the noise. And when he'd looked back to where Sydney had been standing, she was gone. That was when he'd known the truth: Devlin's intel _had_ been accurate; Laura _was_ back in the States, back in Los Angeles_. **But instead of using Sydney to capture your wife as you'd hoped to do, she'd used you to get to her daughter. Laura had fooled you. Again. And you'd failed Sydney. Again.**_

"You remember that?" he asked, his voice thin and slightly tremulous.

"Yeah. Because while I was looking at everything that was going on around me, this saleswoman appeared out of nowhere. She asked if I'd lost my dad and then said she'd help me find him. She told me to follow her to quieter section of the department." Pausing for a moment to mull over what she'd just said, Sydney's eyes flew open and her lips parted to form an oblong O. "She asked me if I'd lost my _dad_. How did she know I was there with you?"

"That saleswoman was your mother," he said, his voice listless. **_You set Sydney up, Jack. You _handed_ her to that woman._**

"She was my—" Her voice hitched in her throat as she tasted bile. "But how? I don't— I didn't recognize her."

"She was well disguised. She didn't want you to know it was her." **_Are you going to tell her how you know that? Are you going to admit that Laura swooped right in under your nose?_ **Gritting his teeth, Jack held his breath and attempted to smother the voice in his head. "She didn't come to be with you, Sydney. She came to send me a message." **_And_ _do you remember what it said? "Don't play games with me, Jack. You'll always lose."_**

"A-a message?" Her heart and mind were racing and, more than anything, she wanted their conversation to end, for the pain to subside. But she couldn't stop the questions from rolling off her tongue.

"A warning, actually," he growled as he forced his ire to come flooding up to the surface. **_Yes, get angry because that'll justify everything you did_**. "Do you remember this woman handing you something right before she left you at a cashier counter?"

"A slip of paper," Sydney murmured, her chin tucked down into her chest, her gaze focused on her bare feet. "She said it was a coupon to thank me for being such a good girl."

"It was a threat. A way for her to let me know she was watching."

"But why? Why would she want you to know that—"

"Because she's your mother!" he snarled. "And she's never wanted either of us to have any peace. But I _wanted_ you to have that peace, so I never told you this. I…I wanted you to be able to believe your mother was…the kind of person you wanted her to be." **_No, Jack, you never said anything to her earlier because you didn't know how to tell her the truth, how to face her and admit that you'd sent her, a young, innocent, defenseless, little girl, into the lion's den. You know the note Laura handed to Sydney wasn't a threat. It was simply a mother's reproach to stop gambling with her daughter's life._**

"Then why are you telling me this now?" The strangled cry in her high-pitched voice forced the tears building in her eyes to overflow onto her cheeks. "How does this change anything? I already think—"

"Despite what you say, Sydney, I _know_ you!" His forcefulness made her recoil. "I'm telling you this because you need to understand how your mother works. You can't let your emotions rule you. You have to accept this information and use it to see your mother for who she truly is. She left you not once, but _twice_. She never hesitated. She never wondered how that would affect you. You need to stop holding on to the fond memories you have of her. Laura Bristow never existed. She's a fallacy and you will only open yourself to more pain until you let that fallacy go. She _left_ you." **_And you used her, risked her life. Which is the more grievous offense?_**

With her vision blurred and her heart pounding faster than she knew it should, Sydney swiped at her searing eyes with the back of her hand and lurched for the door. "I can't— I can't listen to this," she whimpered.

"You _have_ to."

"No! You don't… You don't understand." With her arms quavering and her knees threatening to give out on her, Sydney ran to her room and threw the window open, a cool breeze bathing her feverish face. To know her mother could come back and see her and _still_ leave? While also using her as a pawn to continue tormenting her father? It tainted everything. Christmas mornings…carousel rides…giggles while baking cookies… It tainted _everything_.

Back in the kitchen, Jack could hear Sydney's muffled sobs and set his mouth into a stubborn, straight line. "She needed to know. She needs to know the truth," he attempted to tell himself with conviction, but the almost inaudible words barely made it past his lips. **_Yes, Jack, she does. But you didn't tell her the truth. Not all of it._**


	6. Chapter 6

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6

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Time in seclusion: 43:22:54

In a darkened office on the second floor of the CIA headquarters in Los Angeles, a phone began to ring. Except for the boxes piled on top of one another and the furniture that hadn't been used in over two days, the rings were unheard by all and were silenced when the phone's voicemail was triggered.

"Hi, you've reached Judy Barnett. I'm either on another line or have just stepped away from my desk. But if you leave me a message, I'll return your call as soon as I can. Thank you."

"Hi, Dr. Barnett. This is Joel from the Multimedia Department. I've finished dubbing those tapes you gave me on Tuesday and they can all be picked up whenever it's convenient for you. Feel free to give me a call if you have any questions. Thanks."


	7. Chapter 7

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7

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Time in seclusion: 51:07:07

"Un. Believable."

"Yeah, I know," Vaughn muttered without moving his eyes from the brake lights on the car in front of him.

"No," Jen continued to argue even though he was agreeing with her. "We've been scouring the state for those tapes and they've been four floors above us the whole time?"

"Apparently so."

"How the hell is that possible? How did this…A/V guy not know about Barnett's death? There were interoffice memos – hundreds of memos – from the second her body was found. Memos from Security. Memos from Facility Management. Memos from Devlin," she rattled off. "Hell, we even had a fucking _memorial_ yesterday. What did this guy think _that_ was for?"

"Claims he had a doctor's appointment then," Vaughn stated, the epitome of calm. "Never saw any of it take place."

"Yeah, I know. I was at the debriefing. I just can't— Jack and Sydney have been stuck in that safe house for two and a half days, and we could have prevented all that if we'd known those tapes were in the Multimedia Department." Sighing, Jen looked out her passenger-side window and rubbed the tips of her fingers together. "We could have prevented it, Mike."

"We didn't send them to their executions, you know. You can stop acting like we did."

"You don't understand. Jack doesn't… Ever since Irina Derevko surrendered to us, Jack's been on edge. We need to get him out of there."

Swiveling his head slightly to his right, Vaughn gazed at her in trepidation and uncertainty. "Why? I know he can be a loose canon, but he'd never do anything to hurt Syd."

"Of course he wouldn't." The response was automatic – defensive – and when Jen heard those empty words leave her mouth, she crinkled her nose in disgust at herself. "Jack…loves Sydney more than…anything. It's just that…"

"That what?" he gently pressed even though his hands were now clenching the steering wheel with an irrationally tight grip.

"I don't…" Running her right hand down her neck until it rested on her left collarbone, Jen sighed once more. "I respect Jack, maybe more than anyone else within the Agency. But…I don't know. There's more to him than he lets on. We all know his past. We all know about Irina and how she hurt him. He tries to mask it, play it off as nothing, and he's gotten very good at it. I mean, he can be so detached sometimes that you'd swear he'd never seen her before in his life. But then there are other times when you'll catch him off-guard and see…" Her voice trailed off as she lost herself to her thoughts. She snapped back to attention, though, when she heard Vaughn prompt her by clearing his throat. "Irina changed him. She…stole something from him and has made it so that everything's…gray in his life. Various shades of gray, but the differences are almost nonexistent."

Vaughn stared at her, his heart sinking, until he finally noticed that the car in front of him had stopped and he had to slam on the brakes, lurching both of them forward in their seats. "Are you telling me Jack would hurt Sydney?"

"No," she dismissed, almost with exasperation even though 'not on purpose' was the phrase on the tip of her tongue. It was a phrase she would always refuse to say out loud. "I'm simply telling you we need to get them out of that house."

He pondered Jen's comments while Russek's death darted to the forefront of his memory. He'd been appalled by Jack's behavior then, how he hadn't even blinked when sending an innocent man to his execution. But he'd done that to save Sydney. And as far as he knew, Jack always put Sydney's well being in front of his own. _But how much of that is real, and how much of it is an illusion?_ Vaughn asked himself, the palms of his hands growing clammy. _Is he really as selfless as he leads people to believe?_

Jen watched Vaughn's face harden into an expression of determination and felt panic rise up within her. They'd been colleagues and close friends for years, but she never had any doubts about where her loyalties lay. Despite her fears concerning Jack, she didn't want anyone else questioning him or his motives. "Hey, don't pay any attention to me, Mike. I'm just being my usual paranoid self," she said, forcing a bubbly laugh from her chest as she playfully slapped his right arm. "I'm sure Jack and Sydney are fine. After all, it's not like we put them in that house with Irina, right?"

Vaughn threw her a questioning look and was taken aback by the sudden happiness on her face. But when the smile never faded, he slowly allowed her cheerfulness to set him at ease. "Right," he replied, chuckling as well, almost as if they were sharing an inside joke.

But then the car fell silent as both handlers realized that Irina could be present in the house without physically being there.


	8. Chapter 8

****

8

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Time in seclusion: 52:27:12

They sat opposite from one another: Sydney on the couch with her backpack seated beside her and her packed suitcase propped up next to her legs; Jack in an armchair, his cell phone resting on his lap. Neither of them spoke and neither of them attempted to initiate eye contact. They both, however, leapt to their feet when they heard a key turn in the front lock.

"Hello, we're…here." Jen cocked an eyebrow at the two expectant figures that crowded the doorway and shot Vaughn a pointed look. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, perfect," Sydney declared, her voice too buoyant, too cheerful to be believed. "Just eager to go home."

"Well, Devlin's lifted the seclusion order. He doesn't think either of you are in any danger, so you're free to leave."

"Great, let's go." She reached back for her suitcase and began heading in Vaughn's direction. "Are you my chauffeur again?"

"Actually, uh…" He glanced at Jen and then back to Sydney. "Jen and I assumed you and your father would head back to the city together. The only reason we're here is to sweep through the house and make sure that—"

"No!" Jack and Sydney stared at each other as their protests overlapped. "I…need to go to campus…" she started while he followed her lead and said, "And I need to check-in with Sloane at SD-6 headquarters."

"But—"

"It just doesn't make any sense for me to go completely out of my way and drop Sydney off at school before I can go to SD-6." Jack's gruff tone made it clear to all that his decision was made and he would not be deterred.

"Okay, fine," Jen conceded as she crossed her arms. _What happened here?_ her eyes demanded from Jack. He looked away. "Vaughn, would you mind dropping Sydney off near campus?"

"No, of course not."

"All right. Then you two will leave together, and Jack and I will take the rental car after we've conducted a thorough sweep of the house. That work for everyone?"

Two heads nodded while Vaughn shrugged, his worried gaze resting on Sydney's face. The sadness he saw there did nothing to soothe his frayed nerves.

* * *

"So…did…was everything okay while you were in seclusion?" Vaughn stole a glimpse of Sydney out of the corners of his eyes. Since they'd left the safe house, she hadn't uttered a word. She simply sat perfectly still in the front passenger seat like a wounded animal in shock.

"Yeah, everything was fine," she mumbled without much movement from her lips.

"Did you and your dad talk?"

"No, Vaughn, we just stared at each other for three days," she snapped. When she heard him inhale sharply, she dropped her head and heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"No, I— Some things were said. Some not so nice things," she admitted, her expression downtrodden. "My dad was trying to be helpful…I think."

"You don't need to drop by school, do you?" He allowed his right hand to drift away from the gearshift and on to her left hand, which had been lying on her leg.

She jumped slightly when she felt the warmth of his fingers, but then smiled at the show of nonverbal support. "Not really, no."

"Is there somewhere you _do_ want to go?"

"How about to a bar where we can go and sit together and get totally drunk without having to worry about who might see us?" The lack of levity in her voice told him she wasn't altogether kidding.

"Well, I don't know about the bar part," he said with a chuckle, "but I could do a U-y back to that 7-11 we just passed, buy us a couple of six packs, park in some dark alley, and you can get drunk in the car."

There was a pause and then a very serious "Okay."

Vaughn slowed the car and turned to gaze at her intently.

She glanced over at him and then looked away as soon as their eyes met. "No, I'm sorry. I… That was inappropriate. It's a bad idea, and it's not like we can just— But if we could—"

"Syd, is everything okay? I mean, if you want to talk, we—"

"No, I'm fine." She turned her face away from him and refused to look back in his direction. "I just… Just drop me off a couple of blocks from my house and I'll walk the rest of the way home. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" His eyes raked over the side of her face with concern.

"Yeah, everything will be fine." And while she pretended to be transfixed by the cars that crossed her line of vision as she stared out the side window, Sydney ached and wished for all the things that had never been and could never be.

* * *

It was a rule. An unspoken yet very real rule: never attempt to make small talk with Jack Bristow. Jen had learned that one quickly when she'd first been assigned to him.

But now, as she sat beside a stoic Jack, she rolled her eyes and couldn't believe they'd traveled thirty minutes together without a single word being uttered. _This is ridiculous,_ she thought with disdain. _I'm his handler and I can't even ask him if everything's okay._

Deciding to throw caution into the wind, Jen began, "Jack—"

"I want to see my wife."

"Wha…? No." She frowned and gave her head a firm shake. "Absolutely not."

"That wasn't a request."

"And this isn't up for discussion." When she saw his eyes narrow in defiance, she groaned and waved her right hand through the air. "Look, it's not that easy, Jack. There are protocols that have to be followed. You have to receive clearance from Devlin and Kendall and—"

"Would you like to dial or should I?"

Jen turned to see Jack holding her cell phone out to her. He'd detached it from the cable that had been charging its battery via the car's cigarette lighter. The desire to slap the phone away was the first emotion that seized her, but she repressed it and instead snatched it out of his hand. "I really don't think this is a good idea," she admonished as she started punching in Devlin's number.

"Duly noted." Leaning back into his seat with resolve, Jack crossed his ankles and clasped his hands. **_Always playing games and always losing, Jack. Why won't you just admit you fell off your white horse years ago?_**

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— the end —

Thanks so much for reading.


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